I ran Boston in 1997. It was an incredible experience, one that I remember to this day with pleasure and pride. Any marathon is hard, demanding and a test of strength and will. But Boston is something else altogether. The crowds are loud, the competition intense and the spectacle unreal. The the amateur athlete it is the World Series of running.
I had a decent day, turning in 3:17. I wanted to go sub 3 but it wasn't to be, a fact I recognized at about mile 20. I wanted to push, find another gear, but none was available. My knee hurt and I recognized the signs and symptoms of the gas tank running on fumes. I will simply say that the last five miles hurt like hell.
Last year was hell of a completely different magnitude. Several of my friends were there and witnessed the carnage created by a sociopath. It put a number of things in perspective. It humbled and it hurt, even a thousand miles away. Finishing a race in pain is one thing, finishing it in the ER is another.
Tomorrow they get after it again, running with courage and intent. The goal is to prove to the world that our freedom cannot be, and never will be, decided by anyone or any act, other than our own choice. We will not be removed from this celebration of freedom by the sick attempts at terrorism.
We will run. We will suffer and we will rise above the pain in a valiant march towards the finish. We will congratulate our fellow competitors as brothers and sisters in arms. This unites us and doubles our strength.
By running, we win.
I wish I could be there. Good luck and God bless those who line up tomorrow morning.
Be brave, run hard. And thanks.
Photo is on my clipboard of Me and Dad at the finish of the 1997 Boston Marathon.
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